


Pineapple Rain

by daroos



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), She-Hulk
Genre: Crymaxing, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, I blame Matt Fraction, PWP, Pegging, Seriously how does Clint keep sleeping with these people?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Def: Pineapple Rain -- when rain falls but the sun is shining</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapple Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the always unrepentant Nix. Such thanks to Selori who beta'ed for me and helped unkink my language, and counted the hands and the underwear.

“Are you free this afternoon?” The voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable. Clint Barton. Hawkeye. That sexy fucker.

  
“I don’t have any paying gigs yet. Why do you ask?” Jen Walters, AKA sometimes She-Hulk, attorney at law.

  
“I could use a consult from a trial lawyer,” he said, sounding as though he was probably rubbing the back of his head.

  
“Is this with that nightclub knock-up I heard about?”

  
“No,” he said, in a way that meant ‘yes’.

  
“I thought I heard that was Iron Fist,” she added.

  
“Goddamn it.”

  
“4pm at my office.”

  
\--

“All I need now is a futzing lawsuit,” Clint concluded.

 

“It’s unlikely, given the other... interests... of the party. Though they claim to be legitimate businessmen, there is enough off-the-books activity that Misty has documented that you have each other in a double bind. Unless the law gets involved, which don’t get me wrong, you’re heading towards, there isn’t grounds for clear civil action.”

Clint practically deflated in relief. Not that there weren’t a thousand other things for him to be worrying about, but at least civil law wasn’t on the list for now. Currently. That afternoon. He was an archer, an Avenger, a futz-up, and a scrapper -- he was not an intellectual. “Police are nothing new for me,” he said.

“New or not, active-duty Avengers shouldn’t be having run-ins with them. Do you want me to contact Steve for you? He’s got the usual legal council on speed dial.”

“No. This is my mess -- I’ll deal with it.”

Jen looked at Clint, doubtful. Even when they’d been on a team together -- practically kids -- he had had an outsized sense of personal responsibility. He could never let anybody help him clean up a mess he saw as his own. It seemed age had not tempered that mule-like quality.

They both drifted in silent thought for a moment, and Jennifer was caught off guard when she looked up to see his marksman eyes hitting some unknown target at her center.

“You’re really beautiful. I don’t know if I said that before, but wow.” He shook his head. “I mean, watching you take robots to pieces is just— it’s like Athena or something. But when you’re just Jen, too.”

She frowned at him. “Are you feeling alright?”

He had a sad smile that hung wrong, like it wasn’t his smile at all but was borrowed and didn’t fit properly. “Not for a while.” He scrubbed his head. “I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since—” he broke off and frowned, turning thoughtful. His eyes ran up and down Jen. She raised an eyebrow. “Since when I sacked out on your couch here,” he concluded.

“Well if concussions are the only thing that get you a good night’s sleep, that explains some things.”

“Not the concussions,” he replied with a meaningful look.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t— I just futzed that right up.”

“No. I’ve thought about that afternoon quite a bit myself. Law doesn’t leave a lot of time for a personal life.”

Jen stood and walked over to her desk, unlocked a side drawer and pulled out a banana yellow... Clint’s eyes widened. It was a double-ended dildo, bulbed on one end for a female pilot. “If it’s not your thing I get that, but if it is...” she trailed off with a smirk. “I just had a feeling,” she added.

“No, no, that,” he wet his lips with this tip of his tongue, “I would like that. Let’s do that.”

“Also you mentioned you liked this kind of thing last time.”

“Yes, definitely. Um...”

“There’re some supplies in the bathroom if you want to—”

“—clean up,” they said in unison with a shared look. Clint grinned.

“Sounds good. Don’t start without me?”

Jen hummed. “No promises if you’re gonna be a slowpoke.”

She hitched her butt onto her desk and held the dildo in front of her. It was as elegant as it was tacky, and wasn’t that something to think about. It had come to her by way of Valkyrie, who had gotten it from Tony Stark. Not that she was sharing sex toys with teammates -- it had been a special order gift from the “fellow warrior”. Everything Stark did was a mix of elegant and tacky that seemed improbable.

Valkyrie hadn’t said what powered it, and Jen never had managed to replace the batteries. She hoped it wasn’t nuclear. She flicked the vibrating portion on and gripped it to feel the pulse run through her fingers. She ran the vibration over her breast, to her nipple, the sensation dampened by the soft cup of her bra and her crisp dress shirt. She breathed in slowly and savored the sparks of electricity it sent to her groin. She hummed in anticipation of what that same vibration would do inside of her, pressed against her clit, and reverberating through Clint.

She thumbed it off and dropped it on the desk with more force than necessary. God, this was bad for her billable hours but it was _excellent_ for her stress levels. She went back to the drawer and pulled out a condom for her toy, some Asgardian lube that she swore was the best stuff she had ever used (seriously -- Valkyrie got the best stuff and spread the love amongst her lady friends), and a selection of more mundane toys that had made their way to her desk since she had moved in to her office more completely. Since when had she started keeping sex toys in her desk? She was just considering whether she should put everything away when Clint walked back in.

“Woah. You look ready for an orgy.”

“I was just thinking that, actually,” she admitted. She sounded uncomfortable even to herself.

“No, I like it. I like a woman who’s prepared. Competence is—” he licked his lips. “Not that I shouldn’t have known that— with the bathroom...” he trailed off. “I’m terrible at this.” He dropped his head.

She punched him in the shoulder, lightly, because she wanted him to be able to use the arm later. “I like a guy who likes the things I am. Competent. Prepared.”

“Strong. Beautiful. Way smarter than me. Able to break my ribs with her thighs,” he continued.

“Hmm. You’re hitting all the selling points most men don’t recognize.”

He slanted a look up at her through his eyelashes, shy and coy. “I don’t know how they could miss them: miss you.”

Whereas their first time things had started fast and hot, this time Clint sidled up to her with that same shy look. She spread her legs slightly and he pressed his whole body between her thighs, the warmth of him lighting her up. He tipped up his chin and she shook her hair to the side and they kissed, long and languid. His hands ran over her hips and up to the small of her back, and untucked the tails of her shirt in the process.

She got her fingers under his hem and pulled his shirt off. There was a ridiculous moment when his head got caught in the neckline of his t-shirt, but he threw the garment aside, his hair mussed into a crazy set of spikes, and dove back into kissing. His skin was warm and freckled and she ran her fingertips over his back as he moved down her front, mouthing first under her ear, and then down her throat to the slice of green skin of her chest that the shirt left exposed. He unbuttoned her as his mouth moved down, and he sank to his knees.

Clint ran his cheek across her stomach, just the hint of stubble scratching her skin. “You good down there?” she asked.

“Hmm,” Clint murmured in agreement. “I love this part of a woman.” He nuzzled into the small paunch of fat that no amount of gamma-irradiation would zap away, just under her belly button.

She flushed. “You’re a weird one, Clint Barton.” He spread his knees wider, sinking a few extra inches in the process, and bit the crotch of her dress slacks, hot and damp from her arousal. “You gonna open those with your teeth?” she teased. He rolled an eye to look up at her, the fabric of her pants still between his teeth, and his expression said, “challenge accepted”. He nuzzled into the overlap of fabric that covered her zipper pull and almost daintily grasped it between his teeth and pulled down. Clint moved his hands so they firmly gripped her ass and nosed into her open fly. He inhaled the scent of her while he kneaded her buttocks and relaxed into her body. Slowly, he gripped her fly with his teeth where the fabric overlapped for the hooks and pulled it free. “Impressive,” Jen admitted.

He looked up at her, and his expression was supplication, and adoration, and wicked anticipation. Clint’s hands moved into her waistband and pulled her pants over her hips, over the swell of her ass, and let them puddle over her dress shoes. Her thighs were long and green like the living lettuce heads in the supermarket, corded with the muscle of a warrior. He kissed her inner thigh and ran his hands down her calves. “Can I?” he asked, looking at her panties.

In answer, she hooked her thumbs into her briefs, hitched her hips off the desk, and dropped them on top of her pants. She kicked the clothes to the side with one foot, and kicked off her shoe in the process. The other leg she raised to give him access to her cunt, her pump dangling from her foot. This part, she remembered, he was good at.

Her shoe fell off of her foot in the course of her first orgasm, and she scattered a good number of the papers on her desk across the floor. She leaned into the edge of the desk to support her weight while she recovered. Her thighs felt electric, her skin hot and fizzly. A heavy weight coated her thoughts like a thick blanket or the heady buzz after a large meal. She braced her arms back on her desk and dropped her head back. “Worlds greatest marksman may be your top billing, but that— you are good at that. Oh my god, you are good at that.”

She tipped her head forward and stared down at Clint. He’d sunk further down, until his butt rested between his calves in a yogic hero pose, and he stared up at her with a pleased expression. “It was a challenging angle, but I think I managed well enough.”

“I’ll say.” She offered her hands to him, and he took them, letting her bear his weight as he rose. “Are you still up for that... other thing?”

“Pegging? You can say it, you know.”

“Honestly, I’ve never done it before, so I’m not ‘down’ with the ‘lingo’.”

Clint wiped his forearm across his mouth ,and moved in for another kiss. Jen twined her fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck and pulled him close. She scooted back on the desk and pulled him in, so he was bracketed with her thighs about his waist, and continued to kiss, and kiss, and kiss. He tasted like woman, and he moved like an eel, and he rutted against the edge of her desk with his pants still on.

Jen unbuttoned his pants and unzipped his fly and of course he went commando. He shimmied out of his pants and kicked them towards her own. “So it sounds like you’ve done this before,” she commented.

His expression turned shuttered. “Bobbi and I— yeah. a few times. Five stars all around, would do again. I guess we both know about your level of experience.”

“Just talk to me. Let me know what’s good, or if I’m hurting you, okay?”

“Deal,” he replied. She pulled him in and ran her hands over his ass cheeks as she kissed him. His erection fit into the crease of her thigh, and he seemed in no rush. He’d obviously done some preparation with the supplies in the bathroom. She gave one butt cheek a light slap -- barely enough to pink it -- and stood. She turned them so Clint’s back was to the desk, then spun him so he was bent over it, bracketed with her body. Their forearms parallelled one another -- his roped with archer muscles and tanned pink, hers the green of magnolia leaves.

He had a nice back -- an amazing back. Every tiny muscle had a bit of definition, and his powerful core muscles dominated in counterpoint to the impressive muscle mass in his shoulders. That he let her stand behind him was an honor unto itself. His skin twitched like a horse’s hide at her touch, and she kissed the back of his neck to calm him. “Do we need safe words?” she asked.

“I’ll say something if it gets uncomfortable,” he assured her.

She used extra lube just in case, and worked him slowly with her fingers. He arched into it, and blushes spread across his skin like fireworks going off. Clint rested heavily on his forearms, bent over the desk like it was the only thing holding him up. With her free hand she explored him, caressed his balls or tweaked a nipple. When it became clear he was ready, she took the dildo, sheathed it with a condom for Clint, and generously lubricated it.

“Don’t those usually have harnesses?” he asked.

“Hands free design plus Hulk-strength PC muscles equals hands free operation.”

His eyebrows went up. “Nice.”

“I thought so.” The first orgasm had relaxed her sufficiently that the ‘giving’ end slipped in her without much of a fuss. She flexed her pelvic muscles, and was satisfied when the toy came to attention, bobbing with her movement. “Last chance to back out,” she warned him.

“Not a chance.”

The dildo was actually quite modest, designed specifically with this scenario in mind. She guided the tip to its target, and slowly, ever so slowly, pushed in. With each movement of Clint’s, the dildo flexed within her, providing both feedback and stimulation. She thrust experimentally, but any thoughts of going slow left her when the movement became familiar enough that she could concentrate on the noises Clint made. His back arched under her and he swore and moaned.

“You like me inside you,” she said. She gripped some of his hair and tugged lightly to get his attention.

“Ung, fuck yes,” he managed.

“You like someone holding you down and taking care of you,” she growled and reached for the bottle of lubricant with her clean hand. She got some on her hand and reached around to his front, circling his cock loosely with her fingers. She let the power of her thrusts push him into her grip, and his gasps took on a desperate air. “You like someone else to take charge and make you feel good. Don’t you?”

His voice came out in nearly a sob. “Yes. God, yes.” Clint dropped his head between his arms and mashed his forehead into the desk, gaining a tiny bit of leverage to push back into her.

The push-pull of the dildo rubbed on her inner walls, but after the first orgasm it wouldn’t get Jen to completion without some help. She fumbled to find the button and activated the vibrator. She got one thrust in before Clint stopped her. “Wait. Hold up.”

She stilled immediately, the toy buzzing between them with surprising and -- at least in her case -- gratifying power. “You want me to stop?” she asked.

Clint shook his head hard. “No. I just need a sec. That’s...” he thrust into her hand which still circled his cock. They were both sweaty, and his chest was working like a bellows, from pleasure or exertion, or both. He pressed back into her, until his ass was flush against her mons, and she could practically see the muscles down his lumbar spine unkink.

“OK I’m good. Just tell me how you want me.”

“Just like this,” she said. Between the vibrations traveling through to her core and the way the toy massaged her g-spot, she was close again. She kissed the join of his neck and shoulder and worried the flesh with her teeth just a bit. “You’re just where I want you.” She groaned and started a stream of praise to distract herself just a moment longer.

“Damn, I’m close. You’re good, Clint, god, you’re good. You’re just exactly right.” She came with an orgasm that spread incandescent smears of pleasure down her skin from the top of her scalp to the soles of her feet, and settled deep into her muscles like a languid ache.

And with her words, he was coming with a sob that actually turned out to be a sob. She pulled out of him, perhaps too quickly, and he gasped. She dropped the toy in the sink for later cleaning, and was back to him in a moment. “Are you okay?” she asked, not unkindly, but not gently either.

She offered him a towel to use to clean himself. “Yeah.” He knuckled a tear out of his eye and took the towel. “Yeah. It’s just been a while.”

Since what, she was unsure, but the statement seemed to mean something to him. She glanced at the clock. “Look, I have a dinner thing I have to get to.”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Would you mind... I mean, do you think I could sack out on the couch for a few hours?”

She gave him an amused smile. “Sure thing, Hawkeye. If you promise not to have any friends over.”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied.


End file.
